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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764737">On Another Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cultivation/pseuds/Cultivation'>Cultivation</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last of Us (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amputation, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Clickers (The Last Of Us), Ellie Angst (The Last of Us), Game: The Last of Us Part II, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Ellie (The Last of Us), Mentioned Dina (The Last of Us), Minor Dina/Ellie (The Last of Us), Oblivious Ellie (The Last of Us), Parallels, Past Relationship(s), Post-The Last of Us Part II (Video Game), Psychological Trauma, Runners (The Last of Us), Sad, Sad Ellie (The Last of Us), Self-Indulgent, Suicidal Thoughts, The Last of Us Spoilers, Trauma, Traumatized Ellie (The Last of Us), Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:20:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764737</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cultivation/pseuds/Cultivation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After leaving the farmhouse, Ellie travels on foot through Texas to find the missing pieces of Joel's past.</p><p>The puzzle's picture isn't what it seems.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On Another Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to <a href="/users/skittykitty/">skittykitty</a> for betaing, as always!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>        In a quiet quarry,— far from the farmhouse or the shores of Santa Barbara— Ellie rests. Amongst the trees outside, a timid wind rustles through their autumn leaves. The smell of dew lingers in the air and moistens the atmosphere, a refreshing feeling against her aching limbs. Her body lays limp against the cool stone. She’s been walking all week. The sun hides behind clouds, only peeking through when the time is right. The blue sky spreads and stretches miles beyond where Ellie can see— miles beyond where she’s heading to. Nearby is an interstate full of abandoned cars, semi-trucks, and motorcycles; likely infested with infected and spores. She’ll have to cross it to get to the city. </p><p> </p><p>        She used to find these kinds of things beautiful— the simplicity of a leaf’s pattern and the coo of life hidden in burrows and nests. The little things nobody spoke of and nobody pointed to— the big things, too. She used to see the beauty in everything. In the forest, in the life, in the people, in the museum, the friends, the family, and the beauty of a world left hanging by a fragile thread. There was always an unappreciated detail lurking in everything all around her. The crease of dimples in a smile or the wave of the wind through leaves and grass. The glow of sun against her skin through a window or the wink between summer and fall where it’s just like spring— or the crunch of glistening snow beneath her feet... </p><p> </p><p>        Now, everything drains her— everything sucks at her like a leech. She doesn’t know what she feels. It’s too abstract to even name... too raw to ponder on. Ellie doesn’t even know why she keeps moving... and then, she <em>does</em>. Flashes— quick, silent— of <em>his </em>face bloody and beaten come to mind. Jumbled whispers of words she spoke to <em>him</em>— not knowing they would be the last ones he’d hear— and the words she didn’t echo in her head. It’s a debt Ellie has to pay for never having the courage before. It’s a reminder to keep walking— to keep <em>breathing</em>— because that’s what <em>he </em>would’ve wanted. Because, he risked everything to save her, and... that can’t be for nothing.</p><p> </p><p>        If she had it her way, she would’ve died a long time ago.</p><p> </p><p>        Instinctively, she tries to flex her fingers. Where once were five, only three remain. Suddenly, the air doesn’t feel as refreshing; suddenly, it feels <em>cold</em>— bitter, even. Its bite is infectious and spreads to her head like a talon, scrapping and clawing until its prey gives way. Her body shakes with the dried sweat— and that must be why she’s shaking. She really must be freezing. </p><p> </p><p>        That’s what she’s been supplying herself with lately— the newest excuse on a pile of denial. Her heart hammers in her chest as more images come unbidden: torturing Nora... shooting Abby’s friends. Despite how it should sicken her, there’s an itch under her skin for more. The nausea before at the scene of her pregnant friend dying no longer arises. The things she has done bothered the Ellie who stayed with Dina and JJ on the farm. The Ellie laying alone in a cave doesn’t really have an opinion one way or another. </p><p> </p><p>        It’s just a part of her now. The never satisfied, thirsty part of her— whose only purpose is to make her restless, in search of the high of payback and the bliss of brutality. It’s a nuisance in her head, whispering sweet things... taking sweet things. Promises of anything at the cost of everything. Her eyes land on her three fingers. Before it was unnerving to do so, Ellie could rely on the soothing strum of a guitar to bring her back to center. It was another thing <em>he </em>taught her. But that coping mechanism drifted away with the motorboat in Santa Barbara and died on return to the empty farmhouse.</p><p> </p><p>        Ellie lifts her body from the stone and looks to the trees outside. The chirps of birds and squirrels reside with the gossiping breeze; the maple and birch leaves squirm. The sun peeks through the clouds. Sometimes, she remembers the warmth of Dina behind her on horseback. How everything she spoke seemed bright and sparkling. How the very earth she walked on rattled with compassion and acceptance— understanding, humility, and humbleness. Then, she remembers the last time she saw Dina... exempt of all those things— so cold, so distant, and so <em>bitter</em>. </p><p> </p><p>        She never wonders if she could go back. Ellie knows she’d make the same choice; she’d see the precipice a mile ahead of time and still hurtle far over the edge, crashing and fumbling all the same. If Dina knew her choice was one of relapse, would she have said the same things? Would she still leave her behind? Would she still leave behind their dream? Ellie doesn’t know; she doesn’t know the woman she fell in love with anymore. Everything— everyone— is just out of reach. Memories of happiness locked in an intricate frame, never to be touched or explained— their stories forever trapped within the confines of glass and wood Ellie doesn’t remember crafting.</p><p> </p><p>        She wishes for a way to negate the wear and tear it has on her wandering body. Her eyes are hollowed with dark rings of restlessness, and her body is frail and broken. Bones growing awkwardly and wounds healing improperly leave her unbalanced on the best of days and paralyzed on the worst. How she still survives the perilous terrain she treads, Ellie doesn’t question. Dig the knife a little deeper, and she’s afraid she might stop walking altogether. It’s best to keep moving, not to think. Thinking makes her tired— meek.</p><p> </p><p>        She has somewhere to go— somewhere she needs to be. Her unconscious path has led her to Texas. She isn’t entirely sure how she remembered since <em>he </em>never mentioned it and Tommy only briefly explained what happened there— and his explanation was vague at best. Ellie had to fill most of the gaps in herself, and the picture painted was less than pretty. She wants answers— not to defend him; she isn’t interested in coming up with excuses anymore. She simply wants to know why he did it. She wants to know why he took away the chance for the world to get better. Ellie wants to know why she was worth the world’s eternal end.</p><p> </p><p>        Her eyes flutter shut in the cave, droplets falling onto stone and lulling her into a peaceful respite. She isn’t far from the city. From rumors she overheard and Tommy’s prattle on horseback before... everything, Austin isn’t secure in the slightest. It’s a wasteland left for the infected to graze upon. It wouldn’t surprise her if the entire city was covered with spores. Ellie sighs into the dusk. Outside the quarry, the sun recedes into the clouds; hues of pink and orange dance across the skyline, erasing the blue. She inhales the week’s dew and allows herself to sleep off her aches.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>        The morning brings Ellie no solace. Her dreams are plagued with her own pleas and the crunch of flesh and bone against metal. The last brief, peaceful moments when Ellie turned Joel away followed by Abby ramming the golf club into his skull. She relives the memory in vivid color, the snow so pristine outside as Joel stops breathing and the blood starts pooling. It’s a scene she never sees fully— only in flashes and bursts when she is most vulnerable and weak. (When she cannot possibly stop her mind from presenting it to her again.)</p><p> </p><p>        She awakens with a cough, an accompanying sharpness deep in her chest. Ellie doesn’t know how much longer she can go on with her injuries. She’s suffered through far more than the average survivor and, in this world, suffering only ever ends in death and decay. With a rattling sigh, she opens her eyes, stretches her limbs (still aching), and braves the outside of the cave. Bright sunshine and a light breeze, birds hiding and chirping in the trees, grace her senses without restraint. The bark of a birch nearby is peeling. Uninvited, she recalls a time where <em>he </em>sang to her. It’s a sweet memory, but it’s tainted by other memories sour.</p><p> </p><p>        In the warm-colored leaves, Ellie searches for something she can’t quite explain. It’s a specific feeling she’s waiting to experience; it never comes, and she is left with the emptiness of unmet expectations. Her other hand slowly slides down to meet her wrist. With the bird’s sweet morning songs, Ellie focuses until she can find the vibration. The pulse beneath her skin and veins keeps its rhythm. She sucks in a keen breath and turns back inside the quarry. Steadfast, she packs her backpack. There isn’t much left inside beyond the absolute necessities: water, a bit of cooked rabbit left from yesterday’s hunt, a few different handguns, and a map of the area. The only personal item left for herself is a journal and pencil, but she hardly writes anymore these days.</p><p> </p><p>        Ellie secures a rifle on her back and a few switchblades in her boots, strapping the gun on one shoulder and her backpack on the other. She doesn’t spend another minute longer in the quarry. There’s just no reason to do so; she needs to go to the city, Austin. She has a mission,— a goal— and she won’t stop until she gets there. Maybe, the trembling of her body at night will steady and the pools of blood won’t be as rosy. Maybe then... the flashes and waking nightmares will blur, if only just a little.</p><p> </p><p>        Her footsteps through the forest are silent, only a few twigs snapping beneath her boots. Ahead, she can hear the moans and mumbles of infected along the interstate. She’ll have to be careful and keep her footing in mind. The exit for Austin presents itself in blaring white and green, leading her forward. Her body slips through the rows of backed-up cars and vehicles long abandoned and out of use. As she hides behind a passenger door, Ellie catches a glimpse inside the car. There’s a car seat strapped in the back seat. </p><p> </p><p>        The thought comes without warning; once, a long time ago, a baby must’ve sat buckled in that seat. She’s instantly reminded of JJ and his sweet coos in the farmhouse— and more unpleasantly, his cries in the barn. If there was anyone left to stand her— anyone left to listen— and she was the same person, Ellie might’ve cracked a joke at a moment like this. She would have done something to lighten the mood and ignore the powerful sway the image holds over her. </p><p> </p><p>        But, she isn’t the same person, and… no one’s left to listen.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>        Ellie arrives in Austin a few days before she thought she would. Her body thrums with aches and pains. The city isn’t exactly what she expected. It’s a wasteland, but an empty one. Infected have vacated the area in search of food and the only ones left are a few tired clickers, searching aimlessly for anything to hear. But, she’s silent and remains so. Crashed cars and smashed storefronts allow her little places to hide. Stone and brick burnt long ago linger in Ellie’s head, not much different from the empty car seat. Shattered glass and greenery stretching over the past. Tommy came back here once. She thought he mentioned it but couldn’t remember— not until now.</p><p> </p><p>        Many memories surrounding... <em> Joel </em>are hazy. Unrefined and unclear are her emotions in them. What she used to feel before so vividly has transferred to memories she wants to forget and forgo. In coming here, she thought she would see the color in them again. She thought she might see the beauty in the trees and the world around her. Ellie didn’t expect a full recovery, but she did think maybe she’d feel <em>something</em>. Instead, the ghost town offers her little than shades of the past— <em> Joel’s </em>past. </p><p> </p><p>        And even those are blurred at best.</p><p> </p><p>        She isn’t sure what willpower causes it, but her intuition leads her out of the city— to residential areas. Ellie reckons it’s the realization she has all the time in the world. That the world’s clock stopped long ago. What’s better to do than aimlessly retrace his footsteps on the day of the outbreak? What’s better to spend her time doing? She has all the time in the world, and she’s going to use it. Her mind is still unsettled with the missing pieces of his puzzle, buzzing to discover more about his life. What happened here? What happened to him? What happened to his daughter? </p><p> </p><p>        She grinds her teeth, giving in to the itch; Ellie will find out what happened here— even if it kills her.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>        Two weeks have gone by when she finds Tommy’s house. Ellie searches the place thoroughly for infected (as she does with all the places she’s checked before) and finds only a clicker and spores in the basement. It’s easy to take it down and take it down quietly. The rest of the houses she’s checked haven’t been so lucky— <em> she </em>hasn’t been so lucky. Stabbing the switchblade deep into the amassed head of fungus, Ellie takes pleasure in its last choked noises before the clicker falls to the ground. </p><p> </p><p>        Taking out her bloodlust on infected never mends the wound. It’s simply scratching the scab— she <em>knows </em>that. But, Ellie doesn’t see any other way. She has to get to the center of everything, and this is the only way to do it. Tommy’s house offers very few things to lead to Joel’s house. Picture frames on the walls detail the story of Tommy’s life— a bachelor’s life. Ellie doesn’t think it’s much different for him now, either. Maria wouldn’t encourage what went on between them. The push to pursue Abby— and perhaps, she <em>should </em>have killed Abby. But, after all this time, Ellie doesn’t find the thought as enticing. The liberating feeling of revenge— of violent retribution— doesn’t last for long.</p><p> </p><p>        It can’t mend the wound of hate scorched deep against her skin.</p><p> </p><p>        If there was anything left for Tommy before, there’s nothing now. The house has been ransacked and emptied for any possible resources other than the makeshift parts one with a keen eye (like herself) could discover. Her last resort is to search through the letters left in his desk drawer. Ellie sorts through the junk mail and the bills to find one letter from Joel. She doesn’t need to see his name to know who it’s from him. His scratchy handwriting is enough for her. Precisely what she wants, the address is at the top left corner, and yet she pauses. What pushes her to open the letter and read it, she doesn’t know; it isn’t important— not really.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Tommy, </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> Sarah wanted me to send this, but I don’t really see the point since we see each other every day. Thought it’d be sentimental. She’s got a whole world of her own that kid.  </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> Anyway, have a happy birthday, Tommy. You deserve it. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> (P.S. don’t get too crazy on the drinks coming home. Kiddo will want to see you.) </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>        “Kiddo…” Ellie repeats. The sound of her voice is raw and ragged, barely audible in the silence. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>        Ellie stands outside <em>his </em>house but finds herself stuck in place. Nightfall has come and fills the sky with a void of black and stars. The painted panels of yellow are washed out, and the windows are all cracked and broken. An untouched wind chime hangs from the porch and sways with the quiet breeze. A small table and a chair, along with a porch swing, look weather-worn and stained with fresher blood. Inside, she can hear the moans of the infected. Instinctively, she reaches for her rifle. Her fingers curl around the gun and swing it forward. She sighs before stepping onto the porch. </p><p> </p><p>        Judging from the echo, Ellie can tell they’re mostly gathered in the garage. Still, she keeps a tight grip on her rifle when opening the front door. The hinges are rusty and screech horridly upon her entrance. It takes a few minutes before she can see inside, the shadows and layers of darkness masking the house entirely. She fiddles with the body flashlight, shaking it until she can see the beam of light shoot out. The first thing she notices is a staircase. Once vibrant mahogany, Ellie sees the faded color. The walls are much the same. Everything that was surely vibrant before (like everything in this dead world) is faded. </p><p> </p><p>        A few paintings lie fallen to the floor. A motionless clock hangs above a destitute couch and a television sits across it, screen smashed in and cords ate away by mice. A long rug stretches under the couch, easy chair, and coffee table. Beyond it, a dining room bigger than she expected. A long table, several chairs, and a rug are covered in thick layers of dust. The smell of blood and rot— the kind only infected emit— emanates all around. The floorboards creak beneath her weight.</p><p> </p><p>        She aims her gun to the left and shines the light on the rest of the house. Near the dining room, the patio doors are shattered and the picket fence is destroyed. Grass grows over the fragments of glass and the stains of blood long ago. In the small yard, bones and tattered clothes from a body reside amongst the glass. They’re much too large to be <em>hers </em>and from Tommy’s small pieces, she assumes Sarah didn’t die here. No, something <em>else </em>happened. None of these things catch her eyes for long except what’s closest. A guitar sits idly against a wall near the front door. For a few moments, Ellie simply stares; her mind quiets and her fingers itch. She inches closer, a piece of glass crunching under her boot. Her grip on the rifle loosens.</p><p> </p><p>        From out of the darkness, a clicker charges. She hears it before she sees it. The raging sounds of the dead hurling itself towards her. She aims and fires four shots, the sound echoing and rattling through the thin walls as she reloads. Dark fluid bursts from the fungus and the clicker first stumbles then falls. She steps on its chest and shoots again. In the garage, Ellie hears the infected roar with her loud presence. She’s been trying to use quieter methods, but she’s stopped caring. The more, the better. Two clickers emerge from the corner and she shines her light in their faces and unloads. She lands a headshot on one and a belly shot on the other. She quickly reaches for the switchblade in her boot as the remaining clicker rushes towards her.</p><p> </p><p>        Ellie meets it with a blade to the neck. Blood seeps slow from the incision as it gargles and tumbles forward. She side-steps to avoid falling with the clicker. Two runners charge her at once. She rams the switchblade into one’s eye and slams the other with the back of her rifle. As it stumbles and the other falls to its knees, Ellie fumbles with her backpack to reload. The runner recovers by the time she finds the new clip. It dashes forward, hands grasping at her rifle and arm. It digs its nails deep into her skin. </p><p> </p><p>        “Fuck!” Ellie grunts and kicks as hard as she can in its gut. It loses its balance and falls backward onto the floor, flailing wildly. She drops the clip in her hand and reaches for the revolver instead. “This is for my arm, shithead.” She stands unsteadily but shoots her entire clip into the runner’s face. Her head tilts up at the sign of no remaining infected. Her breath is rough and sharp, her lungs burning with the sudden exertion. She isn’t done yet. “Come on, fuckers! Come at me!” When nothing comes, Ellie is left panting with the bodies of the infected dead at her feet. Her voice is lost, and her leg burns. The scratch marks on her arm sting. </p><p> </p><p>        Before she realizes it, tears are falling.</p><p> </p><p>        Ellie looks back to the guitar and winces as she does. The feeling of her ring and pinky fingers gone and the brutality she brought here, infected blood soaking into the rug below, bring her no satisfaction. It never does. Her feet fumble, leg limping. She walks to the kitchen and searches the drawers for bandages. Nothing remains but silverware and dust. Blood slips down from her scratches, no healing kit in sight. She holds herself up on the counter. Moonlight shines through the torn blinds. Ellie quietly reaches for her backpack and reloads the revolver. The act is peaceful and, through her teary vision, an uncomfortable calm rests across the house.</p><p> </p><p>        Her eyes search the rest of the house with scrutiny. She’s trying to find something— something that will make her understand why Joel did what he did; why it meant so much for someone like <em>her </em>to live. Nothing catches her eye. Ellie limps to the staircase, wobbling over the bodies. She clutches the handrail with a death-like grip. Blood drips and stains the carpet. Every step is a new challenge her body rejects. Still, Ellie pushes forward through the pain and reaches the top of the stairs. She feels tired— more tired than she has ever felt before. Ellie spots a door— a white door. She limps towards it. </p><p> </p><p>        Her weight leans against the wooden frame as she turns the knob with her unbloodied hand. She stumbles inside, finding everything relatively untouched. Dust resides on many of the surfaces: a dresser, a bookshelf, a desk, and a chair. Posters and pictures cover the walls. One poster has a soccer ball while another shows a movie Ellie recognizes but doesn’t remember. A banner near the soccer poster displays a name she can’t read through her tears. She sniffs harshly and wipes away at her eyes with her clean arm. </p><p> </p><p>        “Defenders,” Ellie croaks. She hums, a small upturn to her lips. The realization doesn’t impact her as it should. </p><p> </p><p>        This is Sarah’s room.</p><p> </p><p>        On the bookshelf is a boombox, many stacks of CDs on the shelf below it. She doesn’t look through them. That can wait for the morning. Ellie limps towards the bed and the messy comforter and sheets. Briefly, she muses whether or not this was one of the last things Sarah refused to do. She can easily picture Joel waltzing into the room, an unimpressed look plastered across his face at the unmade bed. The thought makes her stomach sour and her mind freeze over. Then, her eyes meet the photos stuck to the wall. Her flashlight brings them into focus. One picture is of three girls sitting on a couch— identical to the one downstairs. Ellie knows which one is Sarah; she remembers the picture she stole from Maria. She smiles brightly at the camera, laughing amongst what seems to be her friends.</p><p> </p><p>        Joel said once that they would have been friends. Ellie swallows harshly.</p><p> </p><p>        The other picture shows Joel standing next to Sarah and a younger man, arms across their shoulders. Upon closer inspection, the other man is unrecognizable. Someone they knew… someone they surely lost. Ellie sits down on the bed and grasps the photo, a tremor overtaking her body. She takes in the picture. Joel and Sarah in front of some sort of landmark— a canyon, by the shades of orange behind them. Joel’s face is unmarked by wrinkles or darkness. There is no grand shadow chasing him that Ellie always saw. There is simply a father and his daughter, taking a photo to encapsulate a memory.</p><p> </p><p>        More tears slide down her trembling face. She understands it now— why he did it, and why he <em>needed </em>to do it. It was selfish— Ellie knew that— but <em>necessary</em>. They never named it, and she never brought it up, but their relationship was quite the same: a father and a daughter. And, despite his best intentions, he couldn’t lose another daughter. He had to save her, and that’s just what he did. He killed everyone in his path— the Fireflies decimated and dismantled at his bloodied hands—, and eventually, he paid dearly for it. </p><p> </p><p>        And… Ellie— she isn’t much different. She abandoned everything in the pursuit of Abby, killing and torturing without mercy or restraint— all in the name of retribution. But, her love was lost somewhere along the way, replaced with the addiction of hate. She couldn’t stop her hatred from consuming her, and eventually, she paid dearly for it. Her fingers were bitten off, her body was irrevocably damaged, and Dina… Dina and JJ were gone; the only ones left that could stand her— who <em>loved </em>her. She doesn’t blame them for leaving.</p><p> </p><p>        She did the same to Joel.</p><p> </p><p>        “I’m so sorry, kiddo.” She shakily replaces the photo back on the wall and lies down on the bed, curling her legs closer to her chest. Ellie’s vision clears, the last remaining tears falling, and her body giving into exhaustion. She remains motionless, blood fawning and drenching the sheets beneath. Across from her, a stuffed animal sits with marbled eyes. A memory with Joel pops into her head; they’re petting giraffes near an open field, the serene beauty of nature and the innocence of the creature leaning its head into her hand… and, then, it’s replaced. His skull cracking against metal, blood soaking the floorboards, and the glistening snow outside.</p><p> </p><p>        Her eyes flutter shut.</p><p> </p><p>        “I’m so sorry.”</p>
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